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“Xavi!” I’d squealed when he tackled me back to the bed after taking off a green sundress. “I can’t meet your neighbors looking like a showgirl!”
“Just wear jeans, then. Or that tracksuit I like. They both make your arse look fantastic, and who cares what they think, anyway?”
I cared, though. And even if he didn’t admit it, so did he. For better or worse, Xavier at least needed to command some respect from these people, even if they were loath to give it. I wasn’t going to give them a reason by dressing like the uncouth American they obviously thought I was.
And so, approximately thirty minutes past the time we were supposed to join them, Xavier and I entered the second drawing room, him dressed casually but elegantly in a pair of black pants and a blue shirt that matched his eyes. Unlike the rest of the guests, he had foregone a jacket but kept a loosely knotted tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so that the tattoos twisting around his collar and sneaking down his forearm were his only other accessory.
I was shooting for elegant in a knee-length purple shift dress impulse-bought on Amazon, a pearl pendant on a silver chain that used to belong to Nonna, and my favorite silver hoops. But the moment I laid eyes on Georgina, Frederick, Imogene, and the other two guests I assumed were her parents, I knew I’d far undershot. I looked like I should have been serving them dinner—probably at a local pub rather than a place as grand as this.
It wasn’t exactly dressing for dinner atDownton Abbey, but it wasn’t far from it. Dinner with the duke was clearly an occasion, even if the duke himself didn’t think so. The other two men—Frederick and someone else I took to be Lord Ortham—wore full suits, down to the ties and matching pocket squares. All three women wore floaty silk frocks and delicate heels, with subtle jewelry that was obviously very expensive without being overly gaudy.
Georgina’s lips drew into a tight line as she took in the purple dress and the slightly scuffed black pumps I wore with just about every “fancy” outfit I owned. With my simple jewelry and simply made-up face, I felt bare. And as common as ever.
Crap.
“Drink, sir?”
We turned to find Gibson, the butler, standing before us, holding a silver tray bearing a glass of brown liquor.
“Macallan?” Xavier wondered, looking at the glass.
“The forty, sir, just as you like.”
“Good man.” Xavier took a satisfied sip. “It’s the best.”
I watched him savor the drink. “I didn’t know you like whisky.”
“I don’t usually drink it, but Henry always kept the good stuff here. Do you want anything?”
I noticed it was he who had to ask me, not the butler. “Ah, sure. A glass of wine, please.”
“We only serve wine with dinner, miss,” Gibson informed me haughtily.
“Do I get a cocktail?” Imogene called from one of the sofas. She wasn’t, I noticed, looking at me, but at Xavier—specifically his tattoos—with the same expression of a dog about to go in heat.
Xavier frowned. “Just open the damn wine, Gibson. We’re having drinks, not signing a state accord.”
“But it’s not—”
“Do it,” Xavier ordered.
The butler sniffed but turned to do as he was told, leaving us in an awkward silence. Despite the fact that I’d barely said a word, I had a feeling that I had already spoiled the evening.
“You’ll have to ignore him too,” Xavier said as he took my hand and led me to join the others. “Gibson really is a horrible snob.”
“So I was told,” I murmured, thinking of Elsie. Where was she, anyway?
“Kip,” Imogene called, voice crisp like a bird’s, even swallowed by the tapestries that hung from the windows of the elegant room. “Good of you to join us finally,” she joked. “You too, Felicity.”
“It’s Francesca,” I reminded her, staying close to Xavier, who squeezed my hand sympathetically.
Then he dropped it to greet the other two people I didn’t recognize.
“Lord Ortham,” he said as he shook the hand of an older gentleman in a brown suit. “Lady Ortham.”
The other woman, who looked very much like Imogene, right down to the slender frame and elegant height, bobbed slightly to Xavier and accepted his hand.
Xavier looked like he didn’t really know what to do with that but turned away, nonetheless, to take a long sip of his drink. I was glad, at least, that he seemed as uncomfortable with all the formalities as I was.
